


Final Fantasy XV Drabbles

by Bagpipes5k2



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Angst and Feels, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-03
Updated: 2017-07-03
Packaged: 2018-11-23 02:12:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11393229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bagpipes5k2/pseuds/Bagpipes5k2
Summary: A series of very short drabbles that hit me as soon as I saw the trailer for Iggy's ep. I'll add more whenever an idea strikes, but updates will be very random because rather than a complete story, this is simply a collection of individual flashes of insight. Originally posted on my tumblr and I wanted to post them here too.





	1. Ignis Drabble #1

**Author's Note:**

> **SPOILERS FOR FFXV AND THE TRAILER FOR EPISODE IGNIS**

Ignis lay still, facedown on the soaked stone beneath him, the unceasing rain promising no warmth. Neither did the Niflheim MTs that surrounded his prone body, metal boots scraping against the pavement like nails against ice. One of them had begun binding his arms, and Ignis set his jaw in a grimacing snarl. On the inside, however, he was terrified and desolate. He didn’t know where Noctis was. He didn’t know if Gladio and Prompto had even survived the insanity that Leviathan had dragged the city into. Thoughts of Insomnia filled his mind faster than the water that filled the streets. Altissia was no longer a place of beauty and wonder. It was a tomb. Ignis wished desperately to be back home, enjoying coffee in the citadel’s library while helping the prince with his studies. But it was all in vain. That thought was rammed home like a molten blade fresh from the forge as the familiar boots of Ardyn Izunia came up to him. Ignis glanced up with an eye, unable to move his head thanks to the metal palm holding him down. Ardyn said something that Ignis couldn’t quite catch, but it didn’t matter. Whatever happened next, he knew it wouldn’t be pleasant. At all.


	2. Ignis Drabble #2

Gladiolus and Prompto smashed their way through the MTs as though possessed themselves, fighting their way to the curled up shape of Ignis on the waterlogged ground. Weapons were summoned.  
Ardyn laughed.  
"The empire's tool and the loyal hound," he sneered. "What do you intend to do?"  
"Send you back to Niflheim in pieces," Gladio spat. Beside him Prompto kept his guns trained on Ardyn, arms shaking. Ignis hadn't moved.  
"As long as we're breathing you're not taking Ignis anywhere," Prompto said, tears blending with the rain running down his face.  
"Well then! Allow me to remedy that!" Ardyn's gloating smile vanished. The two Crownsguard charged, keeping themselves between Ignis and the Chancellor.


	3. Ignis Drabble #3

Prompto sat beside the unconscious Ignis, arms wrapped around knees pulled to his chest. His dulled blue eyes stared out at nothing in particular, unblinking. One hand held a gun while the other rested carefully on Ignis' shoulder. Prompto had torn off his vest and pillowed his friend's head with it but didn't dare move the injured man for fear of hurting him further. His blood was everywhere. Prompto wished he could turn off his emotions, render himself a souless, broken *thing* like the fallen MTs that surrounded them. The sick irony wasn't missed. He felt shattered. Ignis *was* shattered. Prompto let himself tune out to the white noise of pain and misery raging in his mind and let the tears pour down his cheeks. He wanted Ardyn to pay, somehow. Pay dearly for maiming such a beautiful soul as the man called Ignis.


	4. Ignis Drabble #4

Unceasing torrents. It still hadn’t stopped. One hour of rain pulled into an infinite looping deluge that went on. And on. The sky itself wept for the wounded city, the cloud cover shook with thunder. No gentle spring rains, this. Heavy, thick drops of cold liquid streamed into every street, onto every stone pathway—and drenched every survivor. One in particular lay where he’d been left, discarded when his usefulness to the Chancellor had come to an ugly end.  
Ignis was face down in a puddle heavily streaked with his own blood. He’d tried to move but in doing so had invited fresh agony to his ruined face. Trying to call out to his friends hadn’t worked because his throat had already gone raw from screaming. They’d fallen prey to the one thing they couldn’t overcome—being separated—and thrown headfirst into this labyrinthine city without the metaphorical twine from the old stories, and now the minotaur had them cornered and freshly gored. Ignis felt around himself, hands sloshing through the water sapping the warmth out of his body, chilling him in a slow burn of pulsating pain and harrowing memories of fire before his eyes.  
His own beloved daggers had been used by Ardyn to do the deed.  
Questing fingers found those blades and their owner gripped one, shaking not only from cold but smoldering, simmering rage and shame. A single, searing thought struck Ignis then, bursting forth in a wail of hopelessness:  
_You’ve got my back, right_?  
_Always_. . .  
The razored edges of sobbing cut through the backdrop of storms.


End file.
